


The Amathurin

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beleriand, Gen, Necromancy, ToT: Monster Mash, Undead, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-22 15:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12484984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Curufin experiments with dead Elves as a magical fighting force, but needs Maglor's help to add that final spark.





	The Amathurin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uumuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/gifts).



> _Amathurin_ means secret or hidden shield.

**First Age 402**  
**At the fort of Algon Pass**

Maglor had been at the fortification less than a day before Curufin showed him what he was working on. 

"The time has now come," Curufin said, "when I need your aid, brother. Bring your harp." He looked more agitated than usual, so Maglor agreed without demanding any further explanation. 

They walked down what seemed like hundreds of steps to the lowest basement, where it was dank and cold and smelt of old stone and old blood. "What are you keeping down here, Curvo?" Maglor asked lightly, plucking a note on his harp to light the way in lieu of a candle. 

Curufin held a Fëanorian lamp in his own hand, and turned softly at the foot of the steps, pressing a finger to Maglor's lips. "Shh, you'll wake them. Not until I say." He raised the lamp up.

They were standing in a hallway in the middle of a series of cages, each one housing what appeared to be a dead body. Maglor plucked the lamp from Curufin's hands, and walked along the hall, peering in at first one cage and then the next. 

Curufin stood silent for a moment, then wrung his hands in evident worry and followed after his brother. "Cáno, it's..."

Maglor turned back, eyes blazing in his face. "These are our _friends_ ," he said, voice low. "Our followers." 

"No," Curufin said. "They were once, but they were slain. See," he pointed to one cage, "you know that Haeron died on patrol a year ago, and that Baimeldir was captured by Sauron, returned as a thrall, and was thrown from the battlements of Himring on Nelyo's orders." 

Maglor lowered the lamp, frowning. "You're turning our slain friends into weapons?" 

Curufin reached out, pulling Maglor by the shoulders, drawing him in close. "I will make whatever I have to into a weapon, if it improves our chances. And I need you to help me. You've become complacent in your artist's playground, you've lost the heart for war, and you need to find it again, or when Moringotto attacks, you will be lost."

"We've held him at bay for hundreds of years," Maglor countered. "There's been a few skirmishes -- at this very fortress, for one -- but no major battles, for a long, long time." 

"And my heart forbodes me that we have but given him the chance to test our strength and build up his armies," Curufin said. "He will not be complacent. His Orcs and Balrogs do not weary of war, and they do not devote themselves to making songs in their walled villages, nor forget their duties." 

"Very well," Maglor said. "I can almost hear it on your lips -- _what would Father say?_ \-- and he would agree with you, of course. Perhaps I have become too used to peace. What must I do?" 

Curufin stepped back, making a wide gesture that took in all of the cages and those inside them. "I call this my legion of Amathurin. They are my secret shield, my spectral warriors. I want you to help me test them in battle for the first time." He walked down the hallway toward a door at the far end. "This tunnel emerges north of the fort, where I believe a troop of Orcs will shortly arrive." He gave Maglor a sardonic smile. "I had intelligence from Nelyo's messengers yesterday that a band of a hundred were seen on the plain, and would be left to my tender mercies." 

"Could you explain what you have done to them, first of all?" Maglor asked. "I need to know, or I will not be able to form the correct sort of awaking-song. Is it necromancy indeed, or are they simply bestial bodies without the indwelling soul?"

Curufin paused by the door. "I am no true necromancer," he said. "You will be relieved to know that I cannot summon the spirits of those who have fled to the Halls; these are mere flesh forms which I have forged repairs to. This is why I need you: your song can awaken them, and my repairs will ensure that they stay awake for as long as needful. When the battle is done, we will give them honourable burning or burial, I assure you." 

Maglor nodded. "Unlock your tunnel door, and at your word, I will sing."

"Here," Curufin said. "Once I unlock the cages, they will seek out and destroy anything within range that is warm to the touch. You and I must stay out of their range, so hide behind this wall, and in a moment I will join you." 

Curufin gestured to an alcove, and Maglor slipped into it, sitting down on the slender bench provided, and setting up his harp. 

A rattling of keys and chains followed, and then Curufin slipped into the alcove beside him. "Sing now!" he said. 

Maglor's voice, clear and powerful, deep and strong as the Sea itself, rang out, and as one, the Amathurin stirred.


End file.
